The Billionaire's Hotwife: Confessions of a Submissive Trophy Wife
Copyright © 2015, 2016 Malicia Paine
Publisher’s Note
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Violations may result in spanking, flogging, teasing, orgasm denial, genital torture, and an assortment of other delightful corporal punishments. (No, no… Just kidding! But please understand that Malicia Paine—the author of this book—works very hard to write these stories for your enjoyment, and that this is how she makes her living. So please be mindful of that, and thank you for reading and being respectful. I hope you enjoy the book!)
Table of Contents
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
Other Books by Malicia Paine
Bonus Material
Connect with Malicia Paine
Book Description
He is none other than billionaire tycoon Gary Bennett. I am the only woman in New York with the honor of being both his prized submissive and his trophy wife. Tonight, Gary is hosting a BDSM ball, and my husband wants me to be his pièce de résistance, attending in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties, with my arms bound up behind me in a monoglove armbinder, and my mouth gagged. Tonight, I am no longer merely His submissive to toy with, but Everyone's…
Warning: This is an erotic short story. It contains adult themes and is intended for a mature audience. The story contains elements of BDSM, including bondage, domination and submission. All characters in this story are over 18 years of age, and all sexual activity depicted herein is safe, enthusiastic and consensual.
If you do love BDSM, please be advised that this story is so hot it may force you to drop your handheld device! You may also find yourself feeling flushed, and you might need a change of clothes once you’ve finished reading it. And also, you might find yourself in desperate need of a good, hard f—k! Don’t say I didn’t warn you…
Story Length: 12,000 Words
Story Features: BDSM Erotica, Bondage Romance, M/f, F/f, M+M/f, Billionaire Alpha Male, Submissive Female, Gangbang, Hotwife, Interracial, Armbinder, Ball-gag, Caning, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Damsel in Distress, Consensual Happy Couple, HFN Ending
Chapter One
How did I get myself into this mess? That's what I kept asking myself as I shifted my arms around in the black lace-up monoglove armbinder that held my arms tightly behind me, pressing my elbows together behind my back, pressing my chest out and making it rather difficult to breathe. The big red ball-gag in my mouth didn't help either. I was wearing nothing but a tiny, skimpy, tight, black latex bikini, the lower triangle of which barely covered my sex, and a pair of three-inch red stilettos. There were mirrors around the main floor of my hubby's mansion, and I must say, despite my predicament, I must admit I looked fucking hot!
This would be the ultimate fantasy for me, to look good for my husband like this, if only it were just me and him. But there were nearly a hundred people at the party that night, and as far as I could tell, I was the only one there to this degree of undress, and in this degree of helplessness. And inexplicably, I was horny as hell. My bikini bottom was practically soaked by the juices produced by my own excitement, and I wondered just how many of these friends and strangers could tell. It was certainly just about all I could think about at that moment.
You're probably wondering the same thing as I was at this point. How did I get into this mess? It was so humiliating! Why did I ever agree to this? And why, oh, why was I so turned on? Six months ago, I would never have dared wear an outfit like this in public. Not even to the beach! And to wear it and be helpless in an armbinder and gagged? I might as well have been wearing a "rape me" sign! I could feel the eyes of all the men at the party exploring every contour of my exposed body, and it was strangely so exciting! There were even some women eyeing me eagerly, which also un-eased me a little, but in a different way. I've always had to deal with a little male attention, looking the way that I do. But female attention too? I couldn't tell yet whether that made it more exciting or more intimidating. I suppose it was really a combination of both. But how did I get here exactly?
Well, I'm glad you asked. Let me backtrack just a little. And by a little, I mean…well…
It all began just over three years ago. I'd just finished my master's degree in English and was pondering the ramifications of a life of highly literate, abject poverty, and working my days at a bakery while moonlighting as coat check girl at a local club. Back then, I used to marvel at the outfits that some of the girls would wear there. It wasn't your typical club, and instead had a number of "specialty" nights, including "mod" night, "disco" night, "swingers" night, and of course, "fetish" night. Fetish night was when the really freaky people used to come out, men and women wearing all kinds of leather and other fetish gear. Some of these outfits would be quite revealing, and of course, that meant that during the colder months, I had a lot of coats to check.
It was one particularly cold winter's night in New York when I first met the man I would later marry, Gary Bennett. At the time, I had little idea who he even was, having spent most of my young life with my face buried deeply in one fiction book or another. All I knew was that he was gorgeous, and that I had to take his coat and be polite. I must have checked nearly 500 coats that night, and I was feeling pretty flustered, and my hair was a mess, but I hadn't been nearly so conscious about it until he walked in, and handed me his coat. He looked so damn hot…with his effortless hair…and his well defined muscles bulging under the tight black T-shirt he wore… Mmm…He was a vision any girl would drool over…and I would never have guessed back then that in addition to being a dreamboat stud, he would also turn out to be a billionaire! A model? Perhaps. Or perhaps I might have believed he was some kind of movie star. Or a rock star. He does have a knack for playing guitar it so happens, but that's not really how he made his money. Anyway…the point is…he was gorgeous, it was halfway through the night, and I probably looked like I'd been living under a bus shelter. I can't tell you how desperately I ached just looking at him when I first saw him, and exchanged the briefest of hellos. Then he was off to the floor with his date.
The date that he had brought was also gorgeous, of course—some Asian supermodel looking to make a name for herself in America. She must have noticed the way I looked longingly at her date at the time, because she gave me the dirtiest, most hateful of look, as if to say: back off: he's mine, before stalking after him, with her riding crop in her hand. As if I was any threat to her anyway. She was a sexy model wearing a leather corset. I looked like I was down to my last set of unsoiled linens on laundry day.
As the night dragged on, I saw him from time to time, socializing with some of the other leather clad men and women, and taking turns tying up and teasing some bl
indfolded, gagged redheaded girl. I remember wondering how it would feel to be her, and have all those men, especially that gorgeous muscular man in the black T-shirt, manhandle me, and tease me, and abuse me. And I remember trying to sneak in a few touches to my unmentionables, my fingers beneath my panties, while no one was looking—because really—everything he was doing to that girl was making me so hot. So horny. Even the Asian woman he'd walked in with was turning me on in her own way, albeit a frightening one. I got the sense that she genuinely hated the poor redhead, and started whipping her on the ass and tits quite hard. It ended up starting an argument, and the redheaded girl left crying.
After a time, the Asian woman came back to my booth and demanded her coat, and I struggled to find it. She'd lost the number of course, and so I didn't know how to locate her coat. I had to ask the terrifying woman for a description, and she kept calling me incompetent and threatening me with her riding crop, and in a way, I was kind of thrilled by the idea that she would do that. I'd never experienced such viscous behavior before. But then—and I won't get into explicit details—but she said something quite mean to me. She implied that I was nothing, and would never attract the kinds of men that she could, and that's when he came by again.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
"This useless blonde bimbo can't find my coat."
He looked at me flatly, without any apparent harshness or judgment, and I returned a look of sheepishness. Then he looked at his Asian companion.
"Here," he said, handing me his number. It should be the red coat right next to mine."
I went to get it.
"Yes, that's it. Right there."
"But I can't just give it back without the number," I said, feeling stupid as I said so, as it was kind of lame. Why would she lie about her stupid coat? But still, I was really cross with this woman for some reason. I'd done nothing to her, and she was treating me like an inferior, and…well…to be honest—if I'm to be completely honest—I imagine I was jealous that she got to ride around with the likes of Gary Bennett, probably drinking champagne in a heated limo, while I had to walk home alone in the cold winter air, to my small apartment. To sleep alone. Though it was probably for the best, since watching this hot stud dominate that redhead tonight had given me plenty to think about while I played with myself in bed tonight.
"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'll take full responsibility. Here, take my card. Just in case there's a problem later. I'll come running."
He gave me his card, and then, seeing his name, that's when I first realized who he was: one of the most powerful, eligible bachelors in Manhattan.
Then he left with his Asian companion, and I expected that he would be leaving my life for good. But then, they argued for a few more minutes, and then she left alone, and he came back.
"I'm sorry if you think this forward of me, but what's your name?"
It took me a few moments to let it sink in that this handsome man was talking to me.
"Kayla," I said.
"It's nice to meet you, Kayla."
"It's nice to meet you too, um…" and then I faltered. He'd just handed me his card, and I'd already blanked on his name.
"Gary," he said. "Gary Bennett."
"Yes, sorry," I said. "It said that on your card."
"Tell me, Kayla. What's a girl as pretty as you doing stuck working coat check alone for this club? There's nearly five hundred people here."
And I blushed. I wouldn't have thought a gorgeous guy like him would think I was pretty. I didn't know what to say to that.
"Normally there are two of us," I said. "But the other girl got sick at the last minute."
"Must be hell. It's going to be really rough when the others start leaving, and you're scrambling to hand back 500 coats."
"Oh god, don't remind me," I said. "I'm trying not to think about that."
"Maybe you'd like some help," he urged.
"Seriously?" I asked, more out of disbelief than out of any objection I might have. Because really, I felt elated at the prospect of a helper for the rest of the night. Not just because I really needed the help and I'd been dreading this part, but because he was really hot, and I really did want the chance to talk with him a little more. And maybe ask him about what a girl needs to do to get invited to these sorts of parties.
"I'm always serious," he said with a wry smile. "Except when I'm not. But you look like you could use the help. And how could I ignore a woman in need? Especially when she's as pretty as you."
I imagine I must have turned beat red. I had to look away. The flattery was so shameless and yet…so genuine. And what girl doesn't want to hear about how pretty she is from such a hot guy?
"I don't know if the owners will like you back here."
"Pff…I own one third of this club. I am one of the owners."
I gave him a look of incredulity. Then I looked at the card. It listed the club at the bottom.
"Oh my god," I said. "You are."
"And I'm not going to very well throw myself out," he said.
"Well," I said. "Then I don't think I can turn you down."
I, of course, meant that in a number of ways, though for the time being, I was glad for the help. And that's how Gary and I began our first date, if you can call it that. Neither of us did at the time, but when we look back on it now, that's what it was. It was the beginning of a very promising relationship. One based on mutual respect and attraction, and his coming to my rescue.
Or so I thought!
What a naïve woman I was back then. A naïve, presumptuous woman who needed to be taught a lesson.
As the night went on, and we had a little back and forth banter, and then the people began to come back to the coat check area in larger waves. Gary was right there with me, rushing to find all the right coats as quickly as possible. At one point, I had been taking too long with a number, and that's when he smacked me on the ass with his hand. Hard!
"Ow," I said, looking back at him in a combination of shock and…another feeling I couldn't yet identify. I think it may have been excitement. Or perhaps just plain arousal.
"Hurry up," he snapped in a commanding voice. "You should be faster than this. Get the man his coat."
"Yes sir," I said sarcastically, and went to look for the number.
Then he followed me, just inside one of the aisles, a little beyond where we could be seen. Then he pressed me against the far wall.
"If I wanted you calling me sir," he said. "You'd be wearing a collar. And considerably less clothing. And probably handcuffs. You should know better than to tease me like that."
I didn't know what to say. It was just so unexpected. So…hot! I felt like I could barely breathe.
"I'm sorry," I said. "You just look like a sir."
"I do, do I?" he said, pressing me against the wall with one bulky, strong, well-toned arm.
"Yes," I said. "The way you took command of that redheaded woman earlier."
"Who, Yvette?"
"I don't know her name," I said, still breathing heavily.
"Don't call me sir again," he said. "It's okay for other people. But when you say it, I don't know, Kayla. There's something about the way you say it. Makes me want to strip you, tie you up and…"
He stopped himself short and took a breath and tried to straighten his collar, then realizing that he was in a T-shirt, but was probably used to suits.
"…Do things to you," he finished.
"Is that so…?" I said, with a naughty smile. "…Sir."
He roughly put a hand up to my throat and let me feel a little bit of his strength, and he smiled, but not like before. Before he smiled the way a friendly neighbor smiles at another neighbor. But now he was smiling at me at me in a way that was dark and predatory. And I liked it!
"I knew it," he said triumphantly. "You're a natural submissive, aren't you?"
"Yes," I said, not fully understanding at the time what it truly was to be a submissive. I knew I wanted to be taken. Especially by a h
ot alpha stud like him, but to what extent at the time, I didn't know. I hadn't the faintest idea just how boundless my limits were when it came to him.
That was the first time that we kissed, there, behind all those coats, and for a panicked moment, I thought he was going to rip off my clothes right there and fuck me behind the coats. Or would that have been what I wanted? Probably a combination of both. Isn't that always the way with the men that excite us? To a certain extent, from time to time, don't we all just want to be taken?
We gave the coats back to all of their rightful owners, and the night seemed to drag and would not end. I kept wanting Gary to do something like that again, but he didn't, though every now and again, I'd get a knowing smile from him. And he did smack my ass several more times to hurry me up, and also once just for kicks, because I know that time I hadn't been slow, and when I looked back at him, rubbing my sore ass cheek, he simply smiled at me mischievously. My panties were so wet by then I worried I'd wet myself.
When the place emptied out, and we finally left and got outside, that's when I got another kiss. This one was sweeter, and lasted awhile longer.
Chapter Two
Gary and I kissed for awhile, just outside the club, as the snow gently floated down in the dead of the cold winter's night.
"I don't want to let you go," he said finally.
"I don't want you to let me go either," I admitted with some relief.
He smiled at me.
"What shall I do with you then?
"Do you want to come home with me?" I asked, biting my lip, hoping that wasn't a little too forward.
He smiled again.
"You're sure I can't at least buy you dinner first?"
"I am pretty hungry actually," I admitted.
The Billionaire's Hotwife: Confessions of a Billionaire's Hotwife Page 1
